“You will never see me again, for I cannot bear my life without your love! I shall end it to-night, and when you hear of my death you will know I did it for your sake, and may the thought of it prove a thorn in the roses of your happiness!”
Cora’s voice sank to a low, sobbing cadence as she added:
“He looked wild enough to do any rash deed, but I did not believe him, I thought he was only trying to frighten me. I said good night quickly, and ran into the house, for I was almost frozen, and scared half to death from our interview.”
“Poor Cora—poor Noel! It was very distressing to you both, I know, and I fear he really carried out his threat, for nothing has been heard of him yet, and his relatives are getting very anxious,” said Laurier gravely, almost wishing in his heart that Cora had taken pity on Noel’s love and accepted him.
He knew well that she had coquetted with the young man and led him on to his madness—he had seen it all along while he lay ill—but it was useless to tax her with the wrong, he could only think bitterly:
“Why will women break hearts for pastime?”
But following the thought, a pale, reproachful face seemed to rise before him, and lips that he had kissed for the whim of a moment—red, rosy lips—seemed to murmur:
“What of men?”
So he could not reproach Cora; he was not without fault himself.
The days passed quickly with no tidings of Noel, and the twenty-second of December came—his wedding day!